


stains everywhere

by mellowheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowheart/pseuds/mellowheart
Summary: When Derek decides to take a trip to the supernatural bar in Beacon Hills, he doesn't anticipate meeting someone special.





	stains everywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxxays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxays/gifts).



      **The aged, wooden panels of the wall** across from Derek suddenly seemed like the most intriguing thing in the universe.

      _I mean, why wouldn't it be?_   Derek thought. It was a nice wall, after all, the shade of dark chocolate with a slight shine. The wood was young enough to not look like it would snap with the touch of a finger and old enough to be charming, just like the rest of the bar. The flooring - the next best thing to the wall - had the same appearance, with the exception of stains that would never go away because of the eternal drink spilling which occurred when people had a little too much to drink.

     Among the alcohol stains were splotches of substances Derek only recognized because of his enhanced sense of smell, which was...unfortunate, to be brief. The strongest odor was the blood that he found dried on the floor every time he came to this place; when you lived in a town of supernatural creatures, you got familiar with the dark shade of the old blood, the bright shade of the new. And when you get used to fights between pompous alpha werewolves, you know to step back and mind your business when a kitsune gets into a fist fight with an omega.

     Apparently, the werewolf was being a little too touchy for her taste, because the kitsune was tugging at the bottom of her skirt with a deep furrow between her brows. From the candle-sized flames fluttering on her knuckles, Derek guessed she was one of the fire variety - it was difficult to discern between the Thunder kitsune and the fire kitsune, but after devouring every tome possible about the myths and legends he walked amongst, he knew the differences; the flames of fire kitsunes were as red as recently bloomed roses, edged with black smoke. They were typically angrier and their flames left deep wounds, which is why Derek let his eyes flicker to the wall across from him when the woman lunged, her eyes redder than an alpha's.

     With each howl from the omega's direction, Derek pondered more of the differences, sipping out of wooden beer mug (a little old fashioned for his taste, but when the liquid buzzed down his throat, he couldn't bring himself to care). Kitsunes of flame typically fought barehanded, channeling their power through their fists instead of through a katana.

      _Thump._ The werewolf was now shoved against the wall he was supposed to be focusing on, a bloody, boiling, fist-sized wound on his cheek. His eyes were glowing a golden color, widened in fear and shock when the raven-haired woman drove her fist into his stomach. The boy's hair, initially styled into gentle curls, was now missing in some parts and caked with blood, while the kitsune's hair remained slick and flawless in a way that supernaturals could manage, fastened into two long ponytails on the back of her head.

     He took a new interest in the bronze slosh of his beverage, thanking every god for his late night conversations with Kira. Information stuck to his brain like darts on a bullseye, and the facts gave him something to mull over. Contrary to popular belief, violence wasn't something he enjoyed seeing. However, when it came to those who committed acts of sexual harassment, he was willing to turn the other cheek.

      _Bitches get stitches_ , as Erica would say. Isaac, somehow always at her side, would agree.

     He frowned and let his mug rest on the table in front of him with a soft thunk, wondering when the inane advice of his betas started to take place in his thought process.

      _Note to self_ , Derek thought. _Stop listening to Erica._

     Suddenly, he felt the heat of someone's gaze, not too different from the heat of the fire, and looked up. The glow of the omega's eyes flickered slightly as he made eye contact with Derek, the corners of his eyes sagging as he silently pleaded for help. The alpha's only response was a quirk of his eyebrow with a smirk dancing on his lips. The blond's face falling with lost hope, he coughed in the direction of the ground, the unmistakable sound of blood splattering on the floor not lost to his ears. For the first time, he looked around at the other people in the bar, most of them hooting with barbarian glee.

     With a final cry, the woman grabbed the werewolf by the hair and smacked his head against the wall hard enough for him to collapse, his eyes rolling back into his head. While the people crowding around the brawl cheered, Derek froze, concentrating on tunneling out everything except the omega's heartbeat. The howls of werewolves and the cackles of werehyenas became secondary to his goal of figuring out if the kid was alive, the voices becoming softer and the slow thump of the omega's heartbeat became the loudest sound in his ears. For what felt like a decade, the heartbeat remained slow, before speeding up to a normal pace.

     Although he hated to admit it, he was relieved - he didn't know if he could watch another person die in front of him. He picked up his mug and caught the bartender's eye, nodding when she quirked her eyebrows like she usually did when trying to figure out if he wanted more beer. She picked up the pitcher and walked toward his table, her hips swaying in a casual stride.

     Malia has been the bartender since he'd started coming here, the type that didn't talk when she didn't deem it necessary but would not hesitate to bare her teeth if faced with disrespect. Derek had witnessed this side of her himself when a drunkard tried to pull her into his lap so he could feel over the tattoos along her arms. Long story short, the werecoyote's reaction was nothing short of ferocious; the next time he saw the man, his left arm was in a sling his face was sporting a black eye and a busted lip. That was the moment Derek decided that he liked her.

     Malia nudged his shoulder with two fingers when she got near him, setting the pitcher on the table before crossing her arms in front of her. "Just so you know, Stiles has been checking you out for a solid hour now."

     He cocked an eyebrow. "What the hell is a Stiles?"

     "He's the brunette at three o'clock, one of the usuals," she said, tilting her head in the direction of the table. Derek allowed his eyes to slide in that direction, scanning over the group of people in the maroon colored booth. Everything was dark colored in this place, probably a lazy way to hide the spilled blood and beer. "I'm surprised you haven't seen him before."

     Sitting at the table were four people, all talking as if in deep discussion...except for a brunette who Derek could tell looked more like a boy than a man, even from afar. He was looking right at him, and as soon as they made eye contact, the brunette - or Stiles, as Malia had referred to him as - ripped his gaze away, involving himself into his friends' discussion. To his left was a tall girl with hair only a shade darker than Stiles', which fell all the way to her elbows. Right across from her was a guy with a smile Derek was sure he'd be able to see from outer space; he was the type of person who looked like he was just happy to be alive, and the pretty redhead next to him looked like she'd rather be dead, inspecting her nails. She was the only one without a drink, which meant she was probably the designated driver.

     Derek rolled his eyes, turning away from the group and back to Malia, who had already refilled his mug and was walking away from his table and back to the bar. It wasn't the first time people had told him he was being checked out, and this was no different.

 

 

      **Thirty minutes later, the werewolf** **decided** to sit in one of the bar stools in front of the bar, his eyes glancing up at the tv screens hanging from the ceiling. On one of them, a college lacrosse game was playing, which didn't particularly interest him but it was something to do besides sit at his table and pretend like he wasn't drinking out of loneliness. He could barely tell what was going on and blamed it on the buzz his drinks had created instead of his general disinterest in sports as a kid. But that was okay - Derek would much rather crack open a new book than mindlessly watch the players run across a field for an hour straight.

     Derek sighed and pulled out his phone, planning on playing games until Malia's shift ended. If he didn't bring his betas with him, she always drove him home, helping him into his house and leaving a bottle of water and Advil on the beside table for him to consume in the morning. They didn't talk to each other much, but there was a mutual trust between them, has been for years.

     "So do you always sit alone, staring into space, all..." He made a vague gesture. "...Broody-like?"

     He raised his eyebrows, turning in his stool to see the brunette - Stiles - sitting next to him, looking way prettier now that they were face to face. Derek couldn't quite tell if he was human or not, but with the clumsy way in which he carried himself, he doubted that he was a werewolf. Stiles looked out of place with his youthful appearance, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, a Batman tee peeking out; Derek pointedly looked him up and down, willing to bet all his money that this kid was at least eighteen years old. 

     "No," Derek responded begrudgingly, not even wanting to give him the time of day, no matter how enticing the boy's gaze was. "Do you always sneak into bars?"

     Stiles laughed loudly and without shame, his head tilting backwards and his hand smacking his thigh a few times. Derek took a swig of his beer, hoping the mug would hide the smile on his face. He had the most contagious laugh out of anyone he'd ever met, and it was charming enough to make him want to say things that would make Stiles do it again.

     "Jesus, how old do you think I am?" Stiles asked incredulously, cocking his head with an adorable furrow between his eyebrows, a slight smile still lingering on his lips. Lips that he was instantly attracted to, lips that were so sinful that they looked like they had broken all of the Ten Commandments.

     "Eighteen, at least. And if I'm right, perhaps a pretty thing like you shouldn't be hanging around bars full of adult werewolves."

     He laughed softly this time, a hint of redness appearing along his sharp cheekbones. "I'm 24, and my dad's the sheriff, so underage drinking wouldn't be the best idea - I mean, I did it anyway, but at parties and shit."

     He went on, talking about all the unruly things he did during his high school years; perhaps it was a bit presumptive for Stiles to assume he was interested, but, well, he was interested - not only because he was bored, but because it gave Derek the chance to silently admire his doe like eyes, and the cute upturn of the tip of his nose. Because although what Stiles had to say was intriguing, the alpha wanted to see the boy's thin waist in his hands, wanted his lips to suck on his pronounced collarbone. Not to mention the pale valley that was his neck, unmarked and unmarred.

     God, he wanted to _bite_ -

     Derek blinked himself back to reality, hoping his eyes didn't flash red. If they did, Stiles didn't seem to notice, because he was talking at a hundred miles per hour. However, Malia's grin appeared in the corner of his eye, letting him know he wasn't as discreet about his desires as he pretended to be; it also let him know Stiles was human in every definition of the word, for if he was supernatural, he would've heard the acceleration of his heart rate. Derek glanced over at Stiles' table, amusement radiating from the group, especially from the redheaded girl, who had a victorious look in her eye. The brunette girl was giggling behind her hand, and the guy with the wide grin wasn't even being discreet about watching them, his entire upper body leaning over the back of the booth. When he looked at them, it was hard not to think of his betas.

     He focused his attention back on Stiles, who was too involved in his story about how he had ran his bike into his dad's car that he didn't notice Derek's shift in focus. The way Stiles talked was somehow obnoxious and captivating at the same time. It seemed like every one of his words were punctuated by some outlandish gesture, his hands never leaving the air until he stops talking. And he did stop talking, his fingers drumming on the counter next to them. 

     "Those guys over there are my friends, by the way," Stiles explained with a thumb pointed back at the table he had vacated, apparently having paid more attention to Derek's expression than he thought. "Allison, Scott, and Lydia. 

     "I'm Derek...Derek Hale," he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended it to be. Impolite thoughts about Stiles' mouth were still racketing about his brain, and Derek had to squeeze his fists in order to keep himself from shifting.

     A mischevious look appeared on his face, his lip curling and his eyes glinting like he could see right through him, as if he was probing through everyone of Derek's thoughts and happened to like what he saw. His teeth dragged on his lower lip, his gaze flicking to Derek's arms and chest before making eye contact with the werewolf again. Derek tilted his mug to his lips, his mouth stretching into a grin. They both knew where this was headed, but it seemed like Stiles wanted to bide his time, for he lowered his eyes to his fingers instead of suggesting anything, his long lashes resting on the tops of his cheekbones like butterfly wings. 

     "Stilinski," the human mocked, clearing his throat. "Stiles Stilinski. So, Derek, are you gonna tell me about yourself or am I gonna have to do all the talking?"

 


End file.
